


Necessary Evil

by jonesyslug



Series: Pills [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Character Study, Drug Use, F/M, Fuck Stephen King, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 05:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21422929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonesyslug/pseuds/jonesyslug
Summary: Bill's morning routine and the things that always seem to hang over his head.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips
Series: Pills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544398
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	Necessary Evil

**Author's Note:**

> OH A PART TWO? That's right, it's Bill's turn! I can't think of anything to say except if you're here, THANK YOU SO MUCH, because i didn't think anyone was going to read a Bill character study. I love you.

The first thing Bill Denbrough does when he wakes up is check his phone. The second thing he does is regret it. 45 emails and 3 missed calls.

He's been thinking that perhaps he needs a new publisher. Someone who doesn't stay up all night on uppers, fussing about deadlines and edits, on the few nights a week Bill actually does manage to sleep. 

He didn't blame his manager for the drugs, not entirely. He used to have his own love affair with them. Cocaine to wake his brain up, weed to put it to sleep. He understood. There was a routine in this world. 

But there was also rehab. Rehab was a dime a dozen, out here. He'd gone to rehab because Audra begged him, because he didn't like the face that looked back at him in the mirror, because he was losing days, losing moments, fast forwarding through his own life. 

He went to CA and never told them that he drank, now, because that wasn't a problem. He never blacked out, he never got violent, no one seemed concerned. Writers were supposed to drink, in his opinion. Audra even drank with him! Surely if it was a problem, she'd be discouraging it and not letting him keep scotch in his office. 

He kept his appointments with his psychiatrist. He took his Paxil, and when he had those nightmares, he took his Ativan. He turned down sleeping pills or anything else he was offered by his doctor. He wanted to keep it to a minimum. 

He really wasn't supposed to drink while on Paxil. He wasn't sure you were supposed to on  _ any  _ antidepressants, and if he admitted it to himself, it was probably better to avoid alcohol if you had depression anyway, but he couldn't deny himself the occasional warmth in his chest to settle him in for an evening of writing, or a cold beer on a hot day. It was under control, as far as he was concerned. 

Audra yawned in bed beside him. It was early enough that the room was still relatively dark. 

"Hmmm. What time is it, Billy?" She asked, groggily. 

Her hair was in her face. Like that, she looked like- 

_ God, am I ever going to remember who that was?  _

He swept the hair from her face and focused on her. The cute curve of her nose, her perfect lips. She wasn't- she wasn't whoever it was, that vague feeling of being in love when he was young, but she was here. She was real. She was  _ gorgeous.  _ Was that not enough for him?

"It's 4:47, babe." He said, and kissed her gently on the cheek. 

"Fuck…" she muttered. "I should still be asleep." She turned so that her back faced him. 

"Sweetie, your phone is too bright." 

"Sorry, Audra." He whispered. He slid his feet into his slippers and tried to leave the room quietly, headed for his office. 

He stops by the bathroom first, takes his little pink pill, mentally ticks off that task. He decides to brush his teeth while he's in there, even if he'll ruin it with coffee sooner or later. He thinks, while brushing, that maybe he should cut back on the coffee, if he wants his teeth to stay relatively white. He wouldn't mind so much if he didn't have to do red carpet things with Audra. 

He stares at the Paxil box on the sink while he brushes. It looks so stupid, and sort of cheery. He doesn't like that. He considers it and thinks antidepressants should be packaged as minimally as possible. The front should just say PAXIL, in big, black block letters, leave the rest of the info to the fucking  _ tome  _ of a pamphlet that came with it. Unfolding it felt like looking at an ancient and enormous treasure map. But the only thing on it was a very academic explanation of all the terrible things that SSRIs could do to you.  _ Maybe  _ kind of disasters were better than certain disasters. Possible dry mouth and ringing in the ears were much better than certain debilitating guilt. Definite panic when crossing the street. Occasional apparitions of his brother that no one else could see. 

_ "Paxil treats Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Mr. Denbrough."  _

He replaced the box in the medicine cabinet and rinsed his mouth out. 

_ Little fucking pink tic tac keeps me from losing it? I'll take it. _ He thought, as he left the bathroom. 

Now he was just thinking about the words that had scared his wife so much.  _ Psychotic Depression. _ It had been at its worst in college, he'd stopped taking care of himself, half-assed his assignments if he even bothered to do them at all. His roommate had moved out because he stayed in the room all day, sleeping or just laying there, losing track of days. In retrospect, he didn't blame him. It must have been creepy to have a silent roommate that stared out into nothing.

But he was still a little bitter about it, and thought he was allowed that. Perhaps his roommate could have informed someone, since he himself clearly was too far gone to seek help. 

No, it was no one's fault, and nothing bad had happened. In the end, he'd gotten some help over winter break, and been able to come back just fine, but- 

No, he didn't like to think about it. He slept too much then, and only dreamed of Georgie. Georgie and all these warped images that popped up around him. Faces he didn't recognize, not completely, clowns and his mother, all sorts of things from a childhood he didn't remember, trying to cobble themselves together in his dreams. The doctor said that could happen with repressed memories. 

Well, Bill was glad that he couldn't remember anything past the blurry images his dreams showed him. Upon waking, he always felt like his heart was beating too fast and his lungs were made of stone. He didn't want to revisit that in any further detail. 

He poured all of that dread into his writing. The nightmares, the catatonic state he'd once been in, the images he saw flash up at random behind his eyelids, back when he was unmedicated. Horrible things he didn't even think his mind capable of creating, but they were there and gone in a flash, and he wrote them down, because he couldn't forget them. On bad days, really bad days, he'd still see them, little pink pill or not. 

He wondered if he should get his dosage upped, but he didn't really like the idea. Rehab and CA had made him feel averse to any sort of medication. Remembering the things other people had struggled with, the things they talked about. How tantalizing and deadly a handful of pills could be. 

Minimum. Keep it to a minimum and you were okay. And anyway, what if- what if more Paxil made him too washed out? What if he couldn't write anymore? He was already struggling, and he knew, of course, quitting his medication was a bad sign and he might just end up a lump in the bedclothes again, so he tried to ride the line as close as he could. 

Take the medicine but not too much. That was his deal with himself. 

He sat down at his desk and stared at his laptop. He started to type, not really knowing where he was going with it, by hoping that after a few pass overs, he'd at least come out the other side with a short story to sell. It had been a little bit since he'd really published anything, since he'd been focused on screenwriting. 

He wrote about a boy. A boy who saw monsters no one else could see, until a new girl moved into town. She saw it too, and he promised to protect her from them. The girl was special, even more so than the boy, and she- 

Audra came into the office with a big yawn. She came up behind Bill and wrapped her arms around him. He could feel the cool silk of her robe on his neck. 

"What are you writing?"

"Don't know yet." 

Audra's eyes scanned the screen for a moment, and she smiled. 

"A beautiful redheaded girl?" She asked, with a smile. She kissed Bill on the cheek. "That's sweet. I think it's cute that you want to protect me from the monsters." 

Bill felt guilty deep in his stomach. Audra's kiss burned after the fact. 

"Of course, sweetie. I love you. I'd do anything for you." 

He did mean that. No matter what happened in his subconscious, he meant that. 

"I love you too, Billy." She said, patting his hair. 

"I've got to go get ready for rehearsals. Work hard today, but not too hard, okay?" 

Bill smiled broadly. "Of course. Have a good day, sweetie." 

She blew him a kiss as she left, and he kept his smile until the door was securely closed. 

Then he looked at the words on the screen and it melted off his face. 

"I can't write this…" he sighed. He exited the document and opened a new one. One where he could protect  _ Audra.  _ One where he could be… the man he wanted to be, instead of writing the man he was, like he always did. 

Or maybe he should just answer some of his damn emails. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment, my inbox has been empty for months. You can even call me a jerk, just SAY something. 
> 
> The title is from the song of the same name by Unknown Mortal Orchestra. 
> 
> Love you, thanks for reading a stupid gay boy's drabble!
> 
> PS: I don't agree with or condone Bill's attitudes towards antidepressants and behavioural medication, but do realize it is a pervasive opinion, and thought it'd be realistic to portray. Take your medications and if you need higher dosages, or different medications, there is no shame in getting them!


End file.
